Pansykins
by Shoysrock
Summary: Vince is kidnapped by noneother than everyone's favorite Cockney rapist. Cross-dressing and BDSM ensue. Not for the weak of heart! Sequel to 'He's a Good Lass'. Mature for sexuality, naughty words, spanking and dub-con.


**A/N: Well I'm back. It took a long time, especially since school started, but I've made a sort of sequel to a previous perverted slashfic 'He's A Good Lass'. This one continues fucking with Vince's mind. It is...highly disturbing to even my standards, what little I have left of them. This fic will be 3 chapters long. The next chapter will have watersports and not so intense, and the last involving far more humilition.**

**If you feel offended by the seemingly anti-female themes, you can scroll to the bottom where I give my rationale to explain what is going on. Remember, this is a fetish smutfic which is a world of fantasy and BDSM themes; not that happy, not that happy at all!  
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**WARNINGS: Very bad words, spanking, whipping, obedience training, feminization/sissification, cross-dressing, D/s relationship, dub-con. **

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><p>When Vince awoke, he thought he'd be in his bed like usual. Breathing like usual.<p>

But instead the gag in his mouth was making it hard to, at the moment, to take in enough air to calm down.

He was tied to a chair, straight up now that he was looking around. Muffling his surprise he saw he was in a sort of room; a demented, spooky themed bedroom. There was a cracked mirror across from him at a dusty vanity where he saw what he looked like. That was even scarier.

Now he stared at what he could see of himself: wearing a purple and white, flouncy girly dress. He must have been dressed while he was sleeping. Squirming in the rope around him and his wrists and legs it didn't help the situation. Looking down at his bare feet he tried to relax, tried to calm down. Tried to think where he was and why he was in a little dress.

Then he found out. The door creaked open and two familiar men came wandering in, smiling with a box of goodies. The men, as he saw what they looked like upon them alighting the kerosene lamps, were none other than Jimmy and Jackie Piper.

"Well well well! You look even prettier awake!" One quipped, setting a shoebox by Vince's trembling toes.

Vince was pale, staring between them and what they were doing. The two were setting up the vanity with some bottles of makeup, a large bow, a pack of hose and who knows what else, but it certainly looked girlie and purple. One picked up a large bow and, making that familiar obnoxious giggling sound moved behind him. With a click he pulled the gag out making Vince cough, drool around his lips he couldn't wipe off well because his shoulders were bare and his hands tied. His eyes widened even more at the detailing of his lacy bodice...

"Y-you again?" Vince coughed, trying not to stammer. "What the fuck do you want? You raped me already!" _Try not to cry, try n-not to cry..._

He was trying. Sucking in breath, head reared back as the boys crowded in, gloating in his obvious fear.

"Like the boss said, we's taken a likin' to ya boy." Vince flinched and moved into a cornered-dog mode: snapping at the fingers that snaked in his hair. The twin withdrew, frowning. Vince's gaze drawn to glare at the man left him vulnerable from the other pair of hands that grabbed his jaw, yanking him back to the other twin, his hair pulled. Hissing Vince decided he wasn't going to be compliant now; its just The Twins. With some makeup.

"What the FUCK are you doing?" anger clouded his thoughts as he felt some hair yanked and pulled, the click sound of a bow clip. The twin in front of him gave a goofy smile, giggling. Looking past the twin's ear, struggling in the crushing grip of his head stilled, he saw he now donned the bow, right at the back of his head, the bow's lacey fringes right over the crest of his head.

"That's awful! A bow? Are you kidding me?" His fashion sense was starting to tingle, definitely figuring out that the twins were...were dressing him up like a demented Barbie doll.

"You look so pretty! So...vulnerable and cute!" The hands withdrew not without first pinching his cheeks. They were humiliating him. The twins turned and went to the vanity and, as Vince cursed and shook his head to get the bow off, watched as one picked up some mascara and glittery eyeshadow.

"You're...you're serious...? That's not even my color!"

"Sure is now! The boss likes purple on ya." With a grunt Vince's head was grabbed, a twin behind him holding his head. Vince reared, jerking his head, spitting as he tried to move his head away.

"Stop it! STOP IT!" Vince yelled, almost pleaded. If there was anything more frightening than being helplessly tied up by the rapists from last month, it was that he wasn't the one able to control the make-up. "Don't TOUCH me!"

Growling the twin slapped him. Vince wasn't expecting that. It hurt. In fact it shocked him, because the last time this happened he...

Before he could react the twin thumbed and mussed at his face. Embroiled with the ache of his cheekbones, more from the memory of being hit harder before, it allowed the twins to get a good grip, smearing on purple makeup around his eyes.

"Why are you doing this? Mrpgh!" Vince's face was smushed, and he choked a sound once there was mascara and eyeliner being applied.

"Stop wriggling and we'll tell ya." the twin growled. "Now stop it, you'll get dis in ya eye!"

"Like threatening me with makeup is going to make me stop resisting, a'right?"

"We could threaten ya with your favorite thing. In your mouth."

Vince did stop a second. He remembered. He glared right into those dark eyes of the man's mangy green face, shadowed under his hat, the face he didn't ever want to see again.

"You..."

"We could turn this into a threesome if you wanted, _Vincey." _

Now he was scared.

"..."

Vince did not know how to respond to this. He didn't feel like a fiesty cat anymore, or anything strong. Wincing he just paled as they pulled and pressed at his eyelids. A shiver went through his skin as he let them quickly pat on the stuff to his eyelashes.

"That's what I though brotha. He's not hungry right now mmm is he?" Said the one above him running a brush through his hair.

"Awww a shame..." Without dropping his gaze the twin reached behind him to put the stuff on the table, now pulling out lipstick and blush compounds. Flipping the (used) case Vince gulped and recoiled again, but the hands at his head prodded, reminding him to keep his head put and suffer this. No one ever did his makeup, it was, well, a weird experience for him. Even more so under threat of rape.

Rudely his chin was yanked out and open, letting out a 'gaah' as his lips were manhandled from the thick press of the lipstick. Lips painted his face was being patted and padded by the powder, the twin now humming a merry tune as he applied make-up.

"Well...um...why are you doing this, exactly?" He ventured to ask as he tried not to sneeze. The glimpses in the mirror he got seemed to disturb him that these twins were actually not too shabby at applying facial beauty products.

"The boss wants to pretty you up fer him, make you a little bit nicer fer his eyes."

"That's funny, because the last time he didn't care how I looked." Glancing up through his bangs he spied the twin above's fingers playing with his hair. It was ticklish, a bit disturbing. Only a month ago they were kicking him and shoving their...

"He wants to humiliate you."

_What a success. Great. _"I'm not a stranger to women's clothing you chavs. Honestly though, this is a bit too ugly for me!"

_More like...like...confusing actually._

With the snap of the makeup case and the spritz of some floral perfume into his hair the twin sat back, admiring his handiwork. Noel not had a full view in the mirror. He looked...looked not that bad, though he could have gone without the excess of color. It was purple just like his dress. He looked...rather female, especially with his hair fixed up near-normally...save the bow, sticking up like a giant screaming symbol of completely girlishness. He looked like a dorky young man trying to be a little girl. Probably the intent.

And then that's when the rope was untied around his left leg.

Kicking straight out it was caught by the twin. Gasping he looked what was in his hand, and what was being slipped over his protesting toes: fishnet thighhighs. With a purple bow on the black band.

"...you're not..."

"Also the boss wants you to get a little, ah, warmed up fer him."

The twin behind him said this in his ear. Flinching from it he felt a hand go down his body, down and down. He eyed it, jaw dropping prepared to say a word about this, noting the ribbons now that had laced him into this dress. And then that hand had gone down over the tiny ruffle skirt, grasping his groin.

"...a...ah." Vince sucked in breath, jerking. The twin at his leg slipped up the stockings over his extended, tensed leg. The hand continued to knead at a moderate pace, finding the contours of Vince's genitalia through the ruffly skirt. "Stop, stop it, stop touching me there you dolt I..."

A second hand joined his a moment, brushing the goosebumps and leg hairs of his thigh. Just another touch, much more contact than a petticoat layer. He had to breath again, sucking it in and squirming in his seat. Now the twin withdrew, the other still kneading his...his..._God I'm getting an erection...think about cold feet and wet smelly Naboo socks and..._

"I said S-STOP it!" His other leg was getting the next stocking. Vince couldn't help it, his eyes fell shut and he chewed his lip, stifling a whimper. His body lurched to the hand...the hand shuffling up the skirt, underneath it and finding his manhood. Opening his eyes in a dizzy fashion he saw that he even had different underwear now: something that looked, yet again a light purple, and ruffled. The blush intensified to his cheeks watching a green hand stroke and palm him in such babyish underwear.

"God...stop...stop..."

"You little tart! The boss saids you'd like this, cause you liked it the last time." The twin once finished pulling up the stockings opened the shoe box revealing a pair of shiny patent leather Mary Jane style heels. Vince was huffing now still trying to ignore his junk being groped by a smiling disgusting pudgy man in a bowler hat. His knees drew up, trying to crush the hand and he shoved his head back to gain leverage, anything to stop this madness! Nothing, his foot was grabbed and the heels slipped on, buckled on as he kicked and grunted. The hand was still there. His feet were now in heels that were strangely very close to his size._ They probably stole that pair of shoes I lost a few weeks ago..._he thought, thinking about shoes. Anything but a raging hardon.

"P..." Vince shut his lips to hiss through his teeth. He almost begged them to stop. He didn't want to beg, that was weakness. But he was feeling rather weak right now, the hand around him was frigging him tightly.

"'ppppp'? 'pppp' what?" Vince shut his eyes the twin was right in his face. It continued, he was getting dizzy now, nearly succumbing to utter enjoyment.

"Ppppp fuck offfffff..!"

The ropes around him sagged at the sound of a knife. The hand removed itself after a few more tugs. Vince would have bolted right out of the chair, running away but he still sat breathing and hanging his head, clutching the dress as soon as his arms were free back over the annoyance at his groin. The very happenstance that they had touched him there was already annoying, but that they had _wanted _to, not just wanting to hurt him, made him stare at them back and forth. They hauled him up and, dragging him along as he stumbled in his heels, continued that same vile facial expression of the most dirty intent. That's what disturbed him more.

"Boss is waitin' Vince." Vince would have squirmed more but he was a bit in a tizzy. The blood had gone, well, somewhere else. "Don't wanna keep him waitin'!"

"Don't touch me I said, I mean it! Stop it! STOP IT! That...you..." They were one on each arm. Panic when he couldn't run. He was being dragged-walked with the skitter of his heels through what appeared to be a castle that he was in. Dark walls, polo-themed torches, ragged carpets...all the way up some stairs, him trying to back down when they're dragging him up step by step.

"What? You think we don't fancy ya too eh? Come on bitch, up the stairs!" He was then treated to a smart bottom as an arm left his side to smack his rump, making Vince jump up a step. _This is getting a bit too crazy...!_

"D-doesn't mean I want you touching my junk! Or thinkin' I was gay or anything!" The hand continued to smack at him if he didn't move; skip by stumble he made it up the steps trying to avoid the piper's spanks. Never before had he felt like...cattle, being prodded towards the slaughterhouse. That's what he felt like. A pretty, clean, dolled-up rump of steak just waiting to be served up off the grill.

"Ohoh, we tink ye are." Hissing in his right ear they made it up the steps, pushing him along _clip clop clip clop _heels echoing off the walls down a hall towards a large center door. "Don't worry, the boss says if you don't enjoy _him, _we get to be your alternative..."

Panic was rising in his throat again like a sick bile. The door was not inviting. And the idea of a choice of 'enjoying' was also disturbing.

"Don't. You. Dare." Hissing Vince shoved a foot right at the door trying to push over. Failure again. The twins were rather a bit burly and they destroyed his chance immediately. His leg was kicked out under him and, as soon as he righted himself they opened the door and shoved him unceremoniously inside. Vince, unused to the shoes toppled to his knees as the door shut, locked, and laughing was heard as they left.

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><p>He didn't want to look up, but he did.<p>

The first thing he noticed was that it was a Victorian themed bedroom. Second that it was even creepier with Gothic doodads and demented furniture worse than the powder room he was previously in. Third was that it had a decent enough fireplace with a roaring flame and the kerosene, candles and an antique lampshade on the dresser. Fourth was that there was a large bed all nicely made up with round wooden bed knobs and the like, though Vince didn't fixate upon details of a bed, why should he?

Fifth was that The Hitcher was sitting in a large red arm chair by the fire with a whip over his lap.

"Evenin' lad."

Rage. Fear. And some other confusing emotions. That's what Vince was feeling. Staring up across the room at that...this...this rapist. His heart was hammering in his purple layers. For a second he didn't want to stand up, just...just look to the left and crawl away. There was also that annoying other thing hammering as well. The probably source of the other confusing emotions. But he wasn't beaten yet. He got to his feet clenching his fists a moment as a chill swept over him. However nervousness won out a moment, a moment of weakness as he flustered and quickly pushed and shoved on his skirts to make sure they were down to hide everything. The beady eyes went and watched, the smile on his face growing.

"Alright bastard." Vince sucked in his breath and put his hands on his hips. _Gotta act tough now, not going to just let...let him walk all over me. Not gonna. Not. _"I suppose you think this is all funny? Well its well weird. If you just wanted to...to take me you could have done it without all this STUPID getup awright? 'ou've got no fashion sense mate, I'm more disgusted than frightened you fucking freak, yeah?"

Whilst Vince stared down The Hitcher trying not to get goosebumps he noticed that he wasn't wearing his top hat, nor was the man wearing a shirt under the open trench coat. The green man continued smiling at him, head cocking about as the man kept looking at him all over.

"For one, this purple? Outdated shade! So 1878! This dress? OUTDATED FOREVER!" Vince tugged on his ribbons and stamped his heels. "Also haha, these heels, yeah? I've got heels too you know. I'm not stumblin' round on these things if that's what you wanted. I'm not a stranger to women's clothing yeah but honestly if you want to intimidate me with wretched lace and Barbie bangles well you making any person spew sick all over the place, ESPECIALLY if its SATIN like it is now! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"

The Hitcher slowly moved his gaze up to Vince's eyes. Vince's incredibly wet, frustrated eyes.

"I think you look quite ravishing, lil' madam." Said he in a low, mocking voice.

"Just...just..." Vince was definitely frustrated. He didn't know what else to do at the moment to get at him, or anything to stop him smiling at him like that. He ran his fingers in his hair, looking down at the floor trying not to shake. The perfume itself was annoying him, relaxing with the heat but he was far, far from relaxing right now. He really just wanted to escape and tear this stuff off of him and report him to the Fashion Police. But the only window had bars yonder too small for a man to crawl through. And to that window he would have had to go past him anyways.

"...what do you want with us?"

"Ahhh...now you're calming down a bit girl?" The Hitcher sat back resting the riding crop across his lap and arm rest, a gloating look on his face. _Bet you're just enjoying this aren't you, you sick bastard? _"Well...I've taken a fancy to both of ya. Fer different reasons each. Whiskey?"

Vince's nostrils flared as The Hitcher poured two shot glasses, setting one on the little table next to him. Smirking he gulped one down, proclaiming a loud 'ahhhh' with satisfaction.

"No?"

He was not in the mood to drink anything.

"Well, Vince my boy, I'm quite happy you were smart enough not to report our little night togetha to the bobbies. They wouldn't have believed a green man with a minty monocle with two rapscallion henchmen bummed ya on Birmingham Street. And unfortunate fer you, your only example of this didn't even report it either. So you just sat moping all the live long day writin' in yer diary about what I fucked into ya. Basically I'm pleased."

The Hitcher reached to the side of the chair, pulling out a, well, a diary. Vince's diary.

"I want to hurt ya good Vince. And Howard too. It isn't all about you, wid your mood swings all over the place here..." Opening the book The Hitcher scanned a page, smirking as Vince tried not to succumb to extreme anger. "I know what you hate Vince. But I know what ya want. '_Dear Diary...I was thinkin' bout what The Hitcher kept saying while he raped me and it made me have a nightmare. I wet the bed again. Howard washed it. He thinks he went through what I went through, but he didn't really, not like this, not being called a girl too much...'"_

"Stop reading it. Stop."

"'_I never mind when people mistake me...I get called his girlfriend or a 'bird' or a 'fine piece of lady ass' but now I want to just scream and yell at anyone who does it ever again. Things have changed. I feel frightened at...maybe a reality I'm not who I am. I talked to Charlie and he shook his head, said the black and white rainbow was talking about transvestites and gender-bending ponies in the forest. I love the ladies and I thought I wanted to be like them...'"_

_ "_No...no...!"

"_'...now I'm not sure. He frightened me. They did. 'Uncle' did. He stuck his cock inside and touched me in ways only women should, but it was different. I didn't think I'd ever respond this way. I'm a man who celebrates diversity, but I want to settle down with a panda girl, not a panda boy, and I could never, ever with Howard...wait...why...no. Can't. Shouldn't. It hurts."_

Vince could barely breathe. Standing there. Listening. Lost to his own confession read by accented lips.

_"Dear Diary...I was thinkin' again. Charlie asked why I wasn't putting on my make-up. I said it made me feel...real. Alive, but not really. Like when I put on the eyeliner like it was helping me see something. I knew what the something I wanted to see though, or what I don't want to see, I don't know! I lied to Charlie but Charlie knows I'm lying. I think he knows what I'm afraid of. He thinks I'm afraid of accepting it, but he's not too sure if its something right to accept. We didn't really talk that much, and he just faded away back to the dreamland since I was so boring today. Its just I don't think what I really am is...no, its not who I really am! Shut up Vince! I want to play with my toys not dress up. Haven't touched the lady pants in a week. I feel warm in them but it feels wrong still. I think he...he really hurt me. I don't know if these feelings are true or not..."_

Tottering over Vince raised his fists, sucking in breath through his gritting teeth.

"_All my style is bits of feminine. I love to play around. I'm the confuser. But it was just play..."_

Rage was pumping in his veins. Shaking and about to explode with utter shame.

"..._Diary, I think I liked it. I liked what he did to me. Because I felt the closest to a woman I had ever felt. It was a good kind of woman but yet its not. It was as a helpless slut. I am a disgusting __creature of sex just waiting to burst forth and take abuse."_

"P-please stop reading..."

_"This is all wrong. But its so right when I touched myself last night. I wanted to scream shrilly and something awful. I hit myself. Because I want him to hit me, and Howard to love me afterwards."_

Vince snapped.

_"I can't hide that other part anymore, oh God! Howard...I love you."_

It finally set him off. Vince rushed, with a wild scream towards the chair. He reached for the little book of secrets he kept bottled up, clawing and screaming. He couldn't hear what he sounded like; didn't care, reaching even as the reader kicked up and kept him at bay, a boot at his stomach. With a kick Vince was pushed back but he went in again like a fury. The Hitcher laughed, taunted him, shutting the book and continuing to keep the snarling purple cat away.

"Now now mind ya manners boy. Its rude to act out of line with ya elders. 'Uncle' knows best, me thinks. I just wanna know how to make ya happy that's all..."

"I HATE YOU! IT HURTS! ITS NOT TRUE!" Vince didn't know how to say it any better. He was flustered, crying as he lunged back but was kicked again, harder. The wind knocked out of him as he stumbled and fell. It gave his body a short restart, just crumpled to his knees as he heaved for air and felt the heavy weight of shame cement him. His head was now concrete, it felt, the boiling erupting into more wet eyes and running black makeup.

"It hurts? Me readin' yer silly little truths my boy?"

He glared back, panting and clawing his arms, hugging himself.

_No one should ever know. Not yet. Maybe never. Never. Howard can't. He can't. He can't know my shame._

It was a bit too late. He knew that. It was eating into his heart. Now he was truly frightened to be here, confronted on these scribbled words.

"The rest is a bit amusin' well...specially like the earlier entries, right on after my little visit. You've scribbled out worse 'bout your sex, your fear and nightmares and how you came anyways from them. From me. From me pointin' out the obvious truth you've been hidin' boy."

"No...no...no...no..."

The Hitcher smirked, settling back to lounge in his chair. The boy was at his feet, starting to sob and snuffle.

"Here lad, have ya book back. I've read everythin' anyways."

Once the book thunked to the carpet Vince snatched it up. Clutching it to his chest he doubled over, shaking and choking a sob. His diary was precious, precious like a magic ring or a piece of the soul. He knew no one would read it, no one cared to, Howard respected that part of his privacy, because Howard lo-

Shame again. Heaving another breath he dug his fingers into his arm to the point of pain. He was feeling irrational, wronged, horrified. He didn't want to look up, to look at him. Just holding his book in his arms, forever, protecting his secrets so horribly read aloud.

Something was snaking along his shoulder and hair, petting it. Flinching he jerked from it, finding it was a whip. The Hitcher looked more amused than anything at the man crying in front of him, which was not the reaction Vince found the most helpful.

"You do look so pretty when yer upset. I guess that's anotha reason why I want to roger you silly."

"Please don't touch me." His mouth felt dry but his eyes did not. He wiped his nose on his arm, wishing he had a sleeve or a box of tissues."Just leave me an H-Howard alone. You've done enough to mess me up."

"I think I haven't pushed your little envelope far enough! Ohohoho Vince, once Uncle Hitcha's got a shine to ya he's not going to stop until you're complete."

"I am 'complete'. I'm completely insane. You've done enough t-things." Vince's words were low, but it was because he didn't want to be kicked again, or anything else bad to him at least.

"Not enough. Might not be ever enough." The Hitcher stood, standing over his prey huddling in the firelight. Frightened Vince backed up, skittering to his feet clutching his book. The Hitcher advanced a step; Vince shuffled backwards, staring and nearly cowering. Smirking the man-witch caressed the little whip, palming the leather switch at the end of the supple limb. Vince's eyes were entranced, staring at the small weapon. It was obvious The Hitcher was going to hurt him again. He didn't feel his...his confessions were good enough reason to warrant more 'personal' attention to him, especially with this outfit and being in a room that could be even considered romantic. In fact, as Vince turned tail and bolted to the large wardrobe at the other side, the mood was quite clear Mr. Hitcher had every intention of fucking with Vince's mind. Whiskey, bedding, mood lighting, and taking his sweet sweet time.

"So Vincey, or should I say, my little Pansykins, you gonna play nice with me? Or do I have to be rough wid ya?"

Vince did not want to play. He pressed against it, slinking along the cool wood to get away from him. It felt like the alley all over again except worse. His skin was crawling now because he knew what was going to happen instead of being blissfully ignorant. He looked at those hands noticing the man was wearing leather wide-brimmed gloves, almost like gauntlets, which disturbed him even more. The crop was waiting, raised as The Hitcher took sure steps towards 'Pansykins'. _What a stupid name!_

"I knew ya wouldn't go down without a fight. You're young and bloody trifle all about like a guttersnipe. I once knew a lad like ya, poor bloke ran for hours..." The dark blue eyes watched Vince's skirt bob as Vince gasped and click-clocked round the wardrobe to keep a distance. "...he shoulda learned that it was better to have remain a pick-pocket victim than to chase me down. Little did the blighter know wot he was dealin' with."

Vince crept behind another small table in his circle around the room, but he had to move quicker, The Hitcher was steadily speeding up his walk. Dread was weighing his heart, just thinking about those hands again...but there was more than just dread, there was another weight he thought his fear would get rid of. The weight in his pants.

"Ran him down. Scared the shit out of 'im. I kicked him to the dockside, stepping on his face, crushin' him up a bit. That's when I saw on his squirmin' biscuit of a boy lady's underwear..."

Vince now was by the smaller chair set across the larger, which had the least amount of space between The Hitcher and him. The Hitcher stopped, cracking his knuckles while Vince cowered behind it. He peered over the top, wondering what next he was going to do.

"I pinned 'im down and kneed his pants, wonderin' what the devil's up with the bloomers. Stuck me knife round his ear and 'e told me he's one of those queerjobs from the brothel..."

The Hitcher paused to clear his throat and, giving a devilish look towards Vince, snapped the whip across his palm. Hissing The Hitcher gave a snarl, showing his pain, but it quickly turned into a rather hideous smile with the waggle of his eyebrows.

"Mmm that'll do, that'll do nicely...imagine that, lass, across your little white bottom. Ouch." Chuckling The Hitcher flicked the crop out, arms a bit outspread. Vince quickly realized he was actually, well, trapped, in a sense. If he ran that way or this he could be trapped by those big arms, and that crop he demonstrated so loudly did not look that innocent anymore. In fact before he could stop himself he was indeed imagining that black length striking his little white bottom. A twang of, well, something went through him. Shaking he shook his head 'no' while still staring at the whip that was slowly advancing. Vince found he was very close to the grate of the fireplace, the heat warming his behind and thighs as he backed along and away. It was making him feel even worse.

"Now...where was I...ah yes, I found I was gettin' a bit off on his little predicament. I stepped on his little wanga and thought a bit confused meself at all this, this new little delight fer humiluatin' this little fella embracin' the ladies far too much. So I decided to pursue this little fancy of mine I found for...well, for a long time now."

The story was rather upsetting. He couldn't back to his left, otherwise he'd be in a fireplace. He continued along the mantelpiece, hands along the mantle to steady himself. He found he was nearly stumbling actually, even though he claimed he wouldn't. Lies.

"You bloody modern wankers make it far, far easier to fancy ya. I sometimes go out specifically to hunt and murder ya, makin' you pooftas squeal and scramble all over me walls just fer that thrill of messin' with ya...rapin' ya all bloody. But you? Oh you've got somethin' in love wid ya. Not just me...but mmmmMMMM am I gonna love DIS!"

With a lunge The Hitcher raised his whip and brought it down, smacking it across Vince's arm. With the surprise of the sudden SWICK and jump he lurched back to avoid it but it hit anyways, startling him with a cry of surprise. Unfortunately with the lurch he stumbled. Falling backwards as The Hitcher moved in, closing the gap he fell right into the chair. What happened next when they collided was a blur for about 35 seconds.

The first thing that hit him were hands. They grappled him all over, shoving him against the high back of the red chair. Then his legs were off the ground because he was pushed up and high into the chair, kicking out his legs as the other man moved in. Another second later came the mouth. The hot, wet, dirty mouth right into his neck. Growling The Hitcher nuzzled in and latched on teeth and all right where neck meets shoulder. His body was crushing the squirming and surprised Vince who just let out a scream. It was a hollar, a sound like 'help!' but yet not, a gurgle of shock in his throat afterwards and from the tongue pressing his esophagus. Grasping and pushing soon Vince started to beat on the man's back in vain. Vince twisted wildly to try to get out, get away, all words that would describe 'escape' but the old man was far stronger than he looked; Vince knew he was strong, which made his heart hammer even louder.

_This happened before. _Vince thought. _Its going to happen again._

The Hitcher's hands took no time wandering around the struggling man-girl. His body kept the bucking, warm boy against him, exciting him. His fingers even tingled feeling that oh-so arousing lace and satin, even a bit of static zapping about against his wool coat sleeves. His thumb ran down the bent, lithe sides feeling his muscle and the floral-print of the decorative fabric running down the sides that stiffened and created a form fitting shape. Then it ruffled up the short skirts and petticoats, the fabric making a delightful crinkling sound till his hand met flesh. Soft, pale flesh that at the touch of his leather gloves made Vince take on a new set of sound. His hand shot down and smacked once, twice and thrice at The Hitcher's grasp of his buttock.

"Stop it! Stop! Stop! STOOOOP!" Kicking his head shot back against the chair to push, leverage as he bucked and grappled that hand. His other was yanking and clawing the violator's back and hair because that mouth had made it to the crook of his neck, bared and exposed to teeth. Gasping he rattled out ragged breaths from the pain as The Hitcher sunk dull yellowed chompers into his shoulder. With a grunt The Hitcher crushed him further into the chair pelvis and all. Pelvis because Vince's legs were crushed and spread up. His feet were in the air and thighs jerking around the other man's hips which ground against his own. Vince's heart continued loudly pumping from the excitement and fear in his body once he couldn't take it; with a push from the groping hand on his leg and the release of the bruising bite he let out a sagging sound. Arched-in his exposure was complete. Ruffled skirts up, his aching groin crushed against the other. His body trembled to push, to stop this submissive position and escape but it was no use. His feet only kicked air, his thighs only felt warm bony hips and his said-groin was, well, the most distracting part.

He sucked in hot air, shutting his eyes once a ripple of sensation panged his body. The Hitcher panted, kneeling on the cushion, bent over him nearly suffocating them both through body heat and dark cloaking wool. The sweet perfume of fear, man sweat and smeared make-up intoxicated the rapist letting him duly pause, breathing it in by nuzzling the top of Vince's strained head. The boy's warmth pressed around him and he pressed back noting the gradual hardness being forced in him, and his own so eager to comply with the stimulation. Even more erotic to the green yagoo was Vince trying to fight against the heady sexual tension happening to him; crushed submissively and spread around him, body trembling, his head back as far as it could into the chair so he could strain and stifle his whimpers. His arms clawed and grappled his arms, more like gripping in desperation with each gyrate of the old man's hips. In the dim light and the floral scent of Vince's hair The Hitcher was most pleased at how easily he was reacting to this pleasure. His hands were now free to run up the curved body and thumb the nipples peeking out from the dress's purposeful lowcut. Now Vince shot his eyes open at that, jerking and pulling his head away from The Hitcher's face at his forehead.

"Don't you dare...!" Hissing Vince bucked again and shot his head forward, snapping at The Hitcher's nose so dangerously close to his face. Thumb and forefinger pinched his peaks as a quick punishment for Vince's 'brash' behavior, if fighting back against unwanted sexual behaviors was possibly considered naughty. Which to The Hitcher, it was.

"Little lady, don't ya think its a bit out of your place to make demands like that eh?" With a grunt he pressed harder against the obvious lump in Vince's little panties. It was hot, burning even...but that could have just been the arousal he felt in his own loins. Vince looked incredibly flustered with dilated eyes, but his struggling and the spitting from those painted lips indicated The Hitcher needed to enact the next part of the plan.

"You don't o-own me." Vince tried to break his head free from The Hitcher smothering him, chest to face while his nipples were harassed. It hurt, though The Hitcher wasn't twisting them as viciously as he remembered. Maybe it wasn't even hurting. Terror and more terror filled his head from the way he was being treated and the warmth pooling in his gut from the pleasure of their two groins together. Then he found he was unsmothered, but The Hitcher's green lips parted, and folded from their devious grin into puckered lips. Then he was smothered again, this time a different way.

Whimpering the tongue lathered his cheeks and gums. Exploring, pushing, rough and clacking their teeth together. Vince tried to jerk his head but his whole jaw had been captured by the other who's forceful snogging kept his head crushed between him and the chair. It was strong leverage...still not strong enough. Vince kept his eyes wide open as butterflies and stinging bees stung in his stomach from the weird pleasure he was getting from this, and the horrid sight of an evil man so close and so whiskey-flavored in his mouth. But then again, as Vince protested and punched The Hitcher's moving jaw from the side, he realized why he was being aroused. It was familiar, this kiss. It happened before. It was happening now. It felt even wetter and better than he tried to imagine when at night when...

Now he wanted to punch himself instead.

"Stupid girl." Hissing he rubbed his jaw, and rearing back smacked Vince across the face. Vince shut his eyes, wincing and shivering again. That hit. That touch. Again. Stinging his face so warmly...

With a smug look The Hitcher observed the twitch in the young man's crotch. He knew. That's why he smacked him again, earning an audible gasp and another jerk of his trapped prey's cock.

"Its time to begin some discipline, since ya obviously need it."

Jerking his eyes open Vince glared, trying to focus anger and other energy at the man crushing him. His legs wiggled and cock throbbed out of his control. It was frustrating, trying to ignore the blood pumping in his ears and still defy the one he wanted to hate so, so badly. Turning his head he continued to focus his gaze and snarl through hot frustrated tears. It was getting way too much already.

The Hitcher got off of Vince leaving him to curl up defensively in his chair. Bent over him, The Hitcher took a second to admire Vince's stocking legs shut and curl, the fishnet pattern laced across his pale calves and thighs like a spider's web. Vince shoved a hand down to pull the little skirts down as much as he could over his bottom. The bulge in his panties though could still be seen in this position. Reaching down The Hitcher grabbed the whip he dropped and proceeded to remove Vince from this adorable...but un-whippable position.

Snarling Vince kicked out. The Hitcher only laughed and grabbed his leg...twisting it painfully. He was rewarded with a sharp cry and Vince's eyes faltering in their desperate anger.

"If ya won't cooperate I'm gon be rough wid ya. If you DO cooperate you can get a little treat, hows dat sound girl?" While he was thrilled at yanking the long hair, dragging Vince's side of his face across the fabric to force him into position, a cooperative and broken doll would be also lovely.

"N-no! Never! F-fuck off!"

"Thought so." With a heave of his arm he yanked Vince's head back. His head now facing the top of the chair and the wall beyond Vince was truly powerless, and with an 'oof!' he was pulled up and over. Struggling some more Vince felt meaty hands pull his legs out and under, and with a shove enough to 'uuaah!' the air out of him from a push on his bum. "That's why you're going to have a little chanty while I'll force it in ya."

Huffing The Hitcher pushed on his back with both hands crushing his chest to the chair, the furniture making a creak. His head overhung the top of the chair. He was on his knees with his heels over the edge of the seat. He couldn't see the man behind him, couldn't turn well and with the breeze between his thighs was very vulnerable. Course, he was going to put a stop to that, his hand reached to claw and...

"Agh!" The Hitcher grabbed that, along with the other. Shoving his arm and palm so fast up the fabric that Vince got rugburn. Wincing his arms were vaulted over the sides with his head.

Before he could twist his body and bend The Hitcher yanked his panties right up. Vince was treated to a wedgie.

"Unnnggggghhhhffff!" The sensation was immediate! His hips were yanked up with it, his balls hurting. Temporarily off his feet a loud SMACK was heard across the bared ass before Vince could utter another grunt. Now his eyes were wide, his hands clenching in the air at the impact of the hand.

"10 spanks fer starters." Vince choked at the second hit, another SMACK and sting. The voice was heavy behind his head, and as the shadow of the man bent dangling his behind up where he can hit was on the far wall there was another distressing sensation in his cock.

_I can't like this I can't. _Biting his lip he muffled another cry.

"Three."

He recoiled, stung. SMACK.

"Four."

He winced, lowering his head to bite down hard. Nostrils flared. The yank lifted higher and he couldn't muffle another, making a 'FURRRFFF!' sound through his chewed biting lips. Vince expected a laugh, anything that indicated the witch was amused by this to acknowledge his shame for experiencing this trivial punishment...but he didn't. It was the same dark voice unphased.

That's what was starting to scare him.

SMACK.

"Five."

SMACK.

"Six."

Vince huffed at the sixth and sagged. The tight hammock of the underwear was doing its work. Eyes wet Vince sniffed and took a shallow breath.

SMACK.

"Seven."

SMACK.

"Eight."

_Almost over. Almost over. _"God...dammit..." Vince brought his elbows back so he could grip the edge of the chair he leaned over. Leaned into.

SMACK.

"Nine."

SMACK.

"Ten."

The last spanks were the hardest, rocking his body forward. Groaning Vince felt wet down there and, blushing with shame and the snap of the panties let-go, found he was leaking a little. His lightly tenderized lower half was now support by his knees. He brought a free hand to grasp his bottom, twisting a little to reach and gasp.

"Fuck...that was a-annoying." His flesh had felt hot with each strike and...tightened, including any areas around it. Opening his eyes he saw The Hitcher stand up, rolling up the sleeves of his coat.

"I've only started you little whelp." That same dark tone again. Vince felt an incredible urge after this minor beating to cower into the chair, but he still stayed strong and stuck in a whipping position. His hand lingered at his bottom for as long as possible to cover it, an instinct to protect it from the menacing rise of the riding crop.

"Now..."

Vince stared, huffing. The light of the fire was behind him so he looked all in shadow. The light danced off the shine of the gloves, the whip black as his shadowed form. It seemed his blue eyes were in light all their own, peering at him narrow and dark. There was enough of light though, in the dimness of his nightmarish appearance with hot hellfire behind him in the grate, for Vince to see his lips glisten. He licked them hungrily, controlled. Looking down Vince also saw a pretty damn good inspiration for The Hitcher's obvious lust and dominating actions bulging in his pants. The very sight made Vince consider cowering again.

_I'm afraid. He knows. God...Howard..._ Gulping he looked back up. He felt...pale. And small. Very small. And couldn't move. Like he didn't want to. He didn't want to feel sharpness but yet...

"Yer gonna repeat what I tell ya to say, alrighty?" Growling The Hitcher stepped in, standing at Vince's left side. Without thinking Vince flinched feeling even smaller. Still he looked at him. Gulping he didn't say anything.

_Just like last time. _

His mouth unintentionally started to salivate.

"First off..." Cocking his head the villain ran the length of the whip through his fingers, enrapturing Vince's terrified gaze. "Yer gonna say, 'my name is Pansykins.'"

Vince's brow furrowed in protest. "No."

Without warning The Hitcher twisted and brought the whip right across Vince's turned face.

Shrieking Vince's head was turned back. His face was stinging badly. It was harder, different and more painful than a slap. Actual pain.

"Ah! AH! AH! AH! Ah! Ah...ah..." His cries turned into pants. It felt like his heart and nervous system was hit too.

"That is what happens when you do not do what yer uncle says." With Vince's head turned submissively and recovering, he flipped the skirt up, exposing Vince's bottom once more. Vince lurched and gasped again, clinging still to the edge of the chair once his little ruffles were yanked down fully and completely. His legs shut but The Hitcher swatted at his thighs and Vince quickly spread them back again.

"Now...when you DO do what your uncle says...you feel THIS."

SWAT.

"Ungh!"

The crop was hit different at his bum. His dangling genitals swung with his body at the impact. It even tickled him in a rather inappropriate fashion for the tip against the slip underlayers of the dress skirt that his dick had touched. But even more inappropriately arousing was that the smack of the whip was more pleasurable than pain.

He turned to look at the Hitcher again, blushing madly. He thought it would feel like a spank, anything! But it was like...like a firm tap, yet with sting, yet with enough of it to coil his guts inside out like writhing eels and yet it wasn't and then _what?_

The Hitcher's lips betrayed him, smirking at how puzzled and aroused his little trite looked.

"Now. Say it."

Vince gulped and turned away. He was feeling horribly embarrassed...not exactly frightened in this moment, but that his face still hurt. No doubt it was violently red. And at least The Hitcher wasn't looking at his, well, his _weakness down there. _

The Hitcher furrowed his brow this time. The whip traveled up his back, chilling Vince's spine as it finally hovered in front of his face.

"Don't make me hit you again Panyskins."

The imprint was strong in Vince's horrified, humiliated mind. Flaring up he turned his head away, chewing his lip to keep from making that 'eeeeheh!' noise he just made again. He pressed his upperbody even more against the chair. Hugging tightly, clenching as he braced himself.

"I c-can't say it..."

WHACK.

"AHHH!"

Stars burst in his eyes and head! Something hard hit the back of his skull. It felt like a brick wall. A damp brick wall. A brick wall that he had been throat-fucked hard against, hurting him 4 weeks ago and... "G-Guh!" Moaning Vince hung his head, recovering quickly. It wasn't that bad but... It was the memories of this pain that was hurting the most. His head felt a little more faint now.

"Lets try this again."

Vince looked straight ahead, blinking and trembling violently. His hand went to the back of his head to massage it, feeling he might get a little bump there. He almost started to cry again, it hurt so much. The pressure was still there. It would get worse if he was repeatedly hit like that. He didn't want that. Not anymore.

Sucking in his breath, shutting his eyes and clinging again he caved in.

"My...m-my...name...is...Pansykins."

Vince flinched and nuzzled the chair hoping that The Hitcher wouldn't ask him to repeat that louder.

At once his bottom was smacked by the whip.

"Good girl," he said, clicking his tongue.

A strange satisfaction at that crept into his body. Vince let go of his head and went back to clutching at the chair, holding on while his cock and bottom throbbed with heat.

"When I hit you like this, you will repeat dem words until I say somethin' different. Each time. You understand?"

Tears were rolling down his cheeks. Turning to the wall he saw the shadows again, the full form of The Hitcher over him with the whip ready at his bum, his hunched form clinging in the chair. Vince even had a shadow of the giant bow in his hair.

"Y-yeah."

"Yes _sir, _Vince." A gentle swat at his calf accented his words.

"Yes sir!"

Squeaking Vince felt a weird relief, saying these things. He thought he'd feel more terrible in these humiliating circumstances. Instead it was regularly humiliating, oh yes indeed. It felt...dirty. He felt he wanted to continue. He felt a weird thirst in his mouth for someone telling him to do something and then him doing it. Eyes widening he figured out that he never was one to be disciplined by others.

Then he thought of his fantasies, and how he felt when this situation was originally played out. Except, this time it was definitely deeper than a simple rape in an alley.

At the first strike he knew he was going to lose.

SWAT.

"My name is Ppppppp...Pansykins."

Sighing Vince huffed, jerking from the strike. A few seconds passed.

SWAT.

"My name is Pansykins."

SWAT.

"Nnn! M...mmmm..."

"Come on then spit it out lass."

"MynameisPansykins!" blinking Vince blurted it, feeling a pleasurable sensation from The Hitcher's free hand on his. It had been gripping the wing of the chair but now slid over to his own clenched fingers round the edge. Vince turned a little, looking at his warm hand now on top of his.

"Good good...Now Pansy, say 'I'm a slut, I deserve this.'"

Vince shivered, hesitating. Then the SWAT hit. Harder. More pleasure this time. Different stars were dancing in the edges of his fluttering eyes.

"B-but..."

The master growled dangerously.

"No! NO SIR! I'M A SLUT! I...I DESERVE THIS!"

His panic faded with another enjoyable swat and The Hitcher's face less grim. The pad of leather strayed closer down than usual making his pelvis jerk.

_Why so good...why...why am I enjoying this... _Vince thought in his head, repeating out loud humiliating words. The sensations and the potential-truths of what he was saying was definitely a mantra. Reinforced by the little length swicking red marks all over his bumbum.

"I'm a s-slut, I deserve this. I'mma sl...slllllluuuuuuuuu...t, I deserve this. Imma slut, I deserve this...I...Iah...Oh C-Charlie..." The rhythm of the whipping picked up a little, and so was his words. His eyes shut as he soaked it up, rocking back and forth each time he was hit...all because of these words. These truths. Worse though, was The Hitcher's mild encouragements. It was creepy...thrilling but creepy, Vince thought, as he shivered and hardened under The Hitcher's purring words.

"Say you're a very naughty girl."

"I'm a naughty girl. EEE!"

Good...good..." SWAT.

"I'm a n-naughty girl."

SWAT.

"I'mma naughty giiiiiiiiirl..."

"'I want to please my Uncle.'"

Vince's mind was pudding. It was so hot and achy just swaying where he clung to. He almost curled up and mounted the chair, wanting to hump something, anything for the friction. The words and purrs were so heavy in his ears and this pain lacing through him...this wasn't really pain anymore. This was...

"I w-want to please my Uncle."

SWAT.

"I want to please my Uncle!"

SWAT.

"I w-want to ppppplease my Uncle!"

"'I want your thick cock in me.'"

Vince didn't even care.

"I want your thick cock in me."

_Swick._

He yipped at the sensation. The whip had tapped at his exposed sack. Vince hung his head over and arched, thrust into the air and his petticoats at the jolt.

"A...ahhhhhhh...nnnnnnnnn..." Moaning he raised his head again, realizing he was starting to sweat. How much his bottom thrummed and now his cock even more.

"I w-want your thick c-cock in me," he repeated.

_Swick._

"AHHAA! I want it! Your...your..."

_Swick._

"I WANT YOUR THICK COCK IN ME!"

He felt insane. Now he gave up and lowered his arms, pressing his whole body against the chair to mount and grind. It was aching so bad and the swats, swicks and swishes so _slow _in coming down on him he needed to fix this, alleviate the pressure. Each whip that he brought on quicker and quicker, quicker with his fast replies built it up to a hopeful ending point. Vince wanted the pudding of his mind to end with a giant POP. An exploded hot pudding leaving a mess everywhere. A liquid form of relief. Hot. And sticky.

It didn't matter to him what he was saying, whether he really wanted it or not. It was a chant that lulled his brain into these dulled pleasured senses. His words were loud and clear, begging for cock, unimportant whatever the meaning he meant, so long as the faster he went, the more he was whipped, and the better his thrusts into the chair.

"'Pleasure me sir.'"

"P-Pleasure me, sir!"

"'Fuck me.'"

"FUCK ME!"

"'I'm a whore.'"

"I'M A WHORE!"

The rhythm now continued without his words to be the cue; Vince let out a whinny as The Hitcher gripped his shoulder and whipped fast and hard. Vince moaned and cried out, legs spreading and taking it all. His bottom sore and flexing, humping the chair, spitting with his heavy breath over the other side. The very hand-hold on him aroused him further as he screamed without shame.

"I'm a whore! I'm a whore! I'M A WHORE!"

And then it stopped with a final crack. The whip clattered away, The Hitcher panting a little. Flexing his arm he stood and leaned against the mantelpiece, wiping his brow. Vince was gasping like a fish aching in all sorts of places. Slouching he clenched and unclenched his grip, shivering as he slowed down.

"S-so...c-c..." _c-close..._

"You're not cumin' yet girlie." The man-witch said with a sneer. "Get on the bed where you belong."

Opening his eyes Vince stirred and sunk to his knees, resting his head bowed against the chair he was smearing with sweat and satin. Shaking his hand strayed down to his cock, grasping it while he sunk a leg off the chair to go to that bed.

Then it hit him.

_Wait...what am I doing?_

Though his legs were like jelly he swayed where he stood, turning towards the master of his insanity. Looking at him made him sway backwards, such was the influence over him. He looked even more dominating than he ever had seen before now that he was leaden with lust. But this pause from the whipping was giving him a clearer head, at least enough. He darted his eyes about as he backed off and realized what the words he was previously saying...what that stain was on the chair...how he was...acting.

_That's what he wants. _Gulping he dropped his hands and so did his panties that were round his legs, now at his feet once upright. _I...I did all that? I WANTED it? _

The Hitcher slowly smiled, taking off the wide gloves while his prey was starting to hyperventilate again. The last one was tossed to the small table where the whiskey was, just in time for Vince to start, well, crying again.

_Of course I wanted it. Its all in my diary. I don't understand why but I want him to..._ Wincing he shook his head, trying to shut the tears. Admitting it quietly in his head was just as loud as screaming it. Shame hit him like buckets. His arms tightly crossed, bending and trying not to sob at what had transpired...what PROVED to the enemy his arousal for a beating from wicked hands.

"No? Awww..." Leering he slipped his coat off the shoulders, tossing it on the chair. "There's nuthin' to be ashamed of my little miss. I only want to give ya what ya want."

Now Vince looked up at him sniffling just like he was only just earlier.

"Please don't do this to me. This...t-this is enough!" His arousal abated or, just perhaps in a sick erotic confusion, increased. He patted his bottom. He noticed the pain now, a low burning at each cheek. Wincing he blinked away more tears running down his face.

"I love to see you cry, Pansy." Purring The Hitcher stepped in licking those lips again for the purple painted feast before him. "Never enough of ya tears girl. Besides... you asked for this little fella riiiight here." He pointed down to his crotch, now bulging quite happily. "Didn't ya lass? Didn't ya?"

Vince's mouth shut and opened. He didn't know what to say. It was hopeless to deny words he said though he didn't have any meaning behind them...he thought. He THOUGHT he didn't have any.

"M-maybe I...was wrong..."

He stepped in, and Vince stepped back. In fact, he started to run and turn so that he could go somewhere else and sob with shame. But upon breaking into a bolt the panties around his ankles tripped him and he stumbled, falling forward, right to the ground.

He only had time to twist and look up before hands dug into his bodice. Kicking and whimpering he was dragged up and across towards the bed spread before him. Panicking Vince bucked and fought in his desperate shame, crying even harder once he was lifted and tossed unto the Victorian bedding.

Vince bounced on the springs with a creak and an 'oh!'. Turning unto his back he immediately kicked his legs out, gasping and trying to make sure nothing was going to get on top of him. Luckily The Hitcher just stood, humming as he loudly unzipped his pants. Vince took the time to shudder and crawl away, though the bed was against the wall in the corner of the room. Pushing the skirt down best he could over his whipped thighs. Upon sitting though he hissed a little, bum smarting quite a bit to hurt. Swallowing the annoyance he prepared to defend himself against his captor who was so intent on humiliating him. He had to swallow again though at the size of The Hitcher's, well, 'eel'.

"Spread em' or I'll do it for you." The shadows still remained, making him appear even more evil to Vince's wet eyes. Vince scooted all the way to rest against the wooden head-board to try to reach a defensible position...or just plain cower in fear, as that what he was really doing.

_I mustn't be frightened its just what he wants. _Gulping loudly he forced his eyes away from those green hands caressing himself. His stomach flipped with a sick instinctual anticipation.

_ Just what he wants...Just what he wants..._

"Just what **you** want."

Now Vince shot his eyes open, realizing he was actually whispering it all out loud. With an emotional impulse the tears renewed and so did his shaking. Hugging himself he couldn't stop it, couldn't tell his body to stop jittering around in complete submission.

"There's no escape, you know dat." The Hitcher took a few steps to Vince's bedside with a gloating grin on his face. "And you know I'm gonna rape you. But I also know you're gonna like it...or else."

_Else what? My sanity? P-Probably..._

He grabbed for Vince but instead got an arm as it tried to block him. Swinging his leg unto the bed he snarled and cackled wrestling the pipsqueak down to the goose feather pillows.

'Wrestling' wasn't even the right word. Vince choked and shut his eyes, flailing around just a little. It was in no time The Hitcher had straddled Vince's fishnet thighs and pinned down the wrists.

_If I don't do anything maybe the monster will go away._

Snuffling Vince tried not to think or feel what The Hitcher was doing to him just by sitting on top. It wasn't working. He was still feeling everything. With failure he flinched and jerked once The Hitcher lowered his head to look at him with beady eyes.

"Given up already? Ohoho little strumpet, a weakling like last time eh?" He breathed on him with gusto. Vince shut his eyes and let out a strange noise as The Hitcher licked a long line up his jaw. More butterflies and bees attacked his stomach.

"Just d-do it. If t-thats what you want." Vince cried trying desperately not to move. Because moving caused friction. Friction caused 'suffering'.

"Oh? But isn't it what you want my dear?" Mocking whispers snaked into his ear, along with a tongue. Choking another sob he felt The Hitcher's lips press his ear, nuzzling him into the musky pillow that made his head home.

"Besides...I told ya before. You. Are. Mine."

Gripping Vince's jaw he pressed his lips down for a heavy kiss. Vince's mouth was forced open and the tongue just as he remembered...swirling around, tasting and tonguing him fiercely. The mouth inhaled his moan and groans while Vince shuffled and flexed in his taffetas and laces. It really was unfortunate it was as he remembered, because it was arousing him so. Purple lipstick smeared all over The Hitcher's lips, but he didn't care.

"G-get it over with," Vince wept.

"Get it over with _sir."_

As easily suggestible as Vince was he snuffled, shut his eyes and threw his head back.

"G-get it o-over w-with s-s-s-s...sss...sir..."

"Oy?" The Hitcher ran his hands over the loops and laces of the dress, down the quivering belly of his primped petunia. "You're givin' me permission?"

Vince was about to say something but his mouth uttered a squeak; the light fingertips were actually tickling him a little from the tightness of the dress around him, on their way down to fluff up the petticoats...

"You want Uncle Hitcha to let you release?" Smiling his hand dug into the fabric of the underthings. Vince yipped again from the sensations of it moving around gently stimulating his erection, almost shaking his head no.

"You've h-humiliated me. Done h-horrible...t-things to me. I..."

The hand found his thigh half-spread. It kneaded the flesh, a thumb running up his hip bone.

"Go on kitten." Purring The Hitcher was soaking it up. Vince knew he was, he saw his face, he felt the heavy-petting so close, so near to his weakness.

_I can't hide it any longer. I can't. God...God..._

"...I'm n-not going to fight like t-this anymore."

_Too much._

The Hitcher purred like a giant mangy cat. With a mouse in its mouth.

"..." Vince couldn't finish.

"You're gonna be a good girl fer me, doll?" Choking Vince jerked and flared up; The Hitcher strayed his finger just lightly so at his tip. Teasing.

"Guh! Unghg! B-but...!" There was still that rebellious streak letting him know this was all wrong; that he shouldn't want this abuse. That he shouldn't enjoy such degradation, such sweet torment and illicit pleasure in a dumb little dress.

"Don't be coy."

He gave him a squeeze, ending Vince's sanity.

"Just say 'yes', ma'am."

"_Yes."_

Sobbing Vince shut his eyes as his mouth was taken again. Whimpering he brought his free arm up, clutching the shirtless Hitcher's arm as it flexed and yanked him. Hardening, hammering and thrumming Vince's mouth fell open to the tongue. Crushed and feeling finally a sort of relief. Looking around in his tears he let out a moan, shaking and, with a final tremor through his tightened body, let go.

_Denial doesn't get you anywhere. I've been denin' too long. Its useless, just like me rescuing __myself. _Whimpering Vince kissed back, responding to the tongue while his hips moved with the handjob. _He wants me to enjoy this. I'd rather enjoy this. Its wrong but I want it wrong._

Pulling away The Hitcher moved in to his throat, necking him in a slightly different fashion. This time Vince bared his neck, submitting to his mouth, to the bites that made his breath hitch...regardless of his sobs that were quieting down. Gulping down phlegm and tears Vince shut his eyes and clutched the green man's sweaty, clammy body. He felt every circle of the tongue re-opening the flesh wounds of faded markings. Re-applying a stamp of property, marking him as a slut in more than just a physical sensation.

"You filthy, **filthy **little brat..." The man growled, gnawing his shoulder. Electric pleasure thrummed through him threatening to make him squeal again. _But then again, why should I resist? _He thought, still fighting his confident rebellious instincts. _He's won. But this...resistance makes it...much more..._

Jerking his nipple was harshly assaulted again. The Hitcher's wet lip lathered attention unto each peak that peeked over the dress and ornamental laces. Whimpering Vince's body twisted in its rise to meet The Hitcher's mouth. Its attention was given while his free fingers reached and pleasured the other. He was even groaning while he suckled and pleasured the man, even though this was a typical female foreplay. It served to amuse the wicked and vex the wretch beneath him. Sweet little pain tingled Vince in a sick delight fashion, teeth nipping at the petals of his two flowers...alternating between them making them even rosier, blooming.

The wicked man breathed heavily from the suction and the exercise of his tongue, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Vince was panting and still crying, softly now in the full force of his submission. His eyes were terribly blue as they jerked around to the ceiling, back down to The Hitcher smirking at him and the other body parts roaming his figure. Snuffling he watched as his petticoats were pushed up by greedy hands making that familiar ruffling sound...accenting his own sounds. The hand returned to its previous business roaming the 'countryside', free to explore while Vince twisted, jerked, whimpered.

"So sensitive my pet." Vince let out a shallow gasp, shaking on hand contact. The warm palm choked his girth, rough and strong as it yanked the pet. "I dare say, if you didn't say so before lass you certainly want it now..."

_Get it over with Get it over with _he prayed, whining like a dog. His fingers twisted together in knots over his chest, clinging and tearing about. Everything felt so extraordinarilygood. Too much, extremely good. Weakening him.

The Hitcher noticed this, staring at Vince's wide eyes. The lips were smothered with the purple, open. Vince was flushed, breathing heavily, licking his lips that shone like lavender spit. The poor boy was terrified and helpless. There was only one direction to go for his emotions.

Giving a swat at the throbbing prick in his hands The Hitcher could not wait any longer. The whole spread before was far, far too alluring to wait; the little girl wanted it rough? She'd have it rough. There was plenty, plenty to play with now that Pansykins was subdued for the night.

"Turn over lass." He huskily exclaimed, rising to his knees. "Give uncle what he wants, eh?"

"Y-yes sir." Shaking he slowly scooted around, rising to his hands and knees. His back bowed, it took another second to command his legs to spread, as they were rubbing together in his vulnerable state, a moment of being self-conscious. Blushing Vince stared at the pillows and the creases in the ugly quilting, trying to focus on that and not the fresh wave of anxiety. His bottom was bare, red and exposed in the air, and the heavy breathing and a coo of approval from the man behind him still made him shiver, even without him able to look at the man face to face.

"Mmm...such a nice little bottom. All rosy and red like blood on the carpet." Warm hands caressed and kneaded his round cheeks, playing with the slowly healing flesh to his own delights. "Be a dear Pansy and fetch me that bottle, in the drawer hmm?"

Vince looked at the bedside table close by. His body murmured in reluctance to leave the massage as his master knelt back, waiting for the bottle and thumbing Vince's thighs like a piece of meat. Vince crawled a little over, fingers shaking as he opened the drawer beholding odds and ends...and a bottle, familiar from weeks ago. Picking it up and daring a look back he wished he hadn't. His suspicions for what was heavy and liquid inside were confirmed with a toothy Hitcheresque grin.

"Good girl." He replied, snatching the bottle. Slinking back to his position Vince turned to moan another sob. Even though his cock pulsed, giving a throb at the knowledge and expression of his soon-to-be lover. There was the sound of a cork unpopped and Vince knew what to expect. Memories of the sensations came back to him, how it felt being pulled apart, torn into...well, he thought.

"Now..." He drawled and pushed up the purple and white underskirts, giving him ample view. "Go on, reach behind. Spread yer buns, I gotta put some of my special butter."

Looking back Vince felt a little sick at the words, but the faded smile of the man towering above him was quite serious now.

"B-but...th...t...thhh...fff..." Vince gave up. Biting his lip he brought his hands back, pulling apart his flesh. He tried not to let out another cry at the humiliation but it wasn't working. His muffled cry went forth once a wet finger circled round his hole and push inside.

"That's it...that's it girl...you're bein' a good girl now, is that right? Tell me, are you a good girl?"

"Unghf!" Chewing his lip Vince struggled to stay on his knees without his face falling flat on the bed. His arms were busy keeping his flesh apart as the finger delved in and out, digging around like a demon's tongue. He could fall over at any moment.

"I SAID...tell me girl!" The finger went up to the knuckle fast, fingerprinting the prostrate it soon found.

"Y-YES I am a good girl!" Vince squealed out. His grip wavered as the finger thrust itself in and out, curling in to touch his special place. It elicited continuous squeals out of him, like a quiet cat being petted fiercely, its back arching to the rough strokes down its feline spine. Vince felt like this, so trusting and bent to this familiar, missing feeling. The pleasure his fingers could just reach, but not as thick and rough as what was happening now. His squeals melted into mewls, little cries with the thrusts of two fingers back and forth, back and forth they rocked him. His hands strained, grasping and flexing as he kept himself apart just as he was told to do. Told by his Master, slowly fingerfucking him. Vince was relaxing to the touch far, far easier than he thought. Perhaps it was his willingness, the leniency of defeat. Perhaps.

"Uh...umfh...s-sir..." The thrusting turned into stretching; scissoring, more and more with each flex of the digits. He trembled anew as sweat collected on his brow. It dripped along with tears and some snot to the bedding below. His head hung as it continued, soft squishing sounds as The Hitcher continued harder, different, the pads of the fingertips stroking all inside.

"Good...good...ahhhhah...so delicious..." Smacking his lips the witch leaned in, licking up the curve of Vince's rump. Mewling Vince almost let go of his buttock. It tingled from the hot spit and pressure of the muscle that graced it with its evil eloquence. His breath was starting to get really ragged as The Hitcher's fingers kept on deep against his prostrate, flicking occasionally. It tested him as Vince jolted with each flick, wincing with pleasure with little grunts. The Hitcher continued tasting the red flesh, chomping down on the feast before him.

"I can do anything I want wid ya, can I Pansy?" Growling dangerously he slobbered all over the indents of his teeth that his mouth left behind, Vince whimpering and nearly collapsing forward. He yanked the dress skirts out of the way to see Vince nod.

"Y-yes..."

"I'd like that very much, slut."

The hands removed themselves from groping and digging into Vince's cavity. Trembling Vince felt one last sickening kiss on the curve of his body before the creak of the mattress, the low groan of pleasure and the _fupfupfup _sound as The Hitcher readied himself.

_Slut. Slut. Slut. _Fingers trembled, hurting as he held himself open. He could just imagine how he looked bent over, panting with a whimper in his throat, his eyes wide with the images of wondering how he looked from The Hitcher' angle; a puckered hole open, slick with oil, his cheeks pulled apart by his straining white knuckles creasing into his flesh. Knees hurting, ready to fall. But worse was knowing that, just under the skirts below, he was aching. Enjoying it.

Then he felt it. Familiar. Hot, slimy flesh rimming around, before pushing inside. One firm hand planted itself on his hip, the other angling his cock inside. The Hitcher pulled his willing slave back, impaling himself within 2 second all the way inside.

"Ah! AH! AHAH! Oh FUCK...FUCK...Ah...ah...ah...ah _God..._"

The thrusting was immediate. Laughing in his sick fashion he began to slide in and out, pushing his way in as the clenching muscles instinctively fought back. Vince kept yelping at the pain and pressure of the violation. It was terribly uncomfortable, worse than before now that it felt like wounds, imaginary, had opened.

"Eeeeeeeeeeasy does it now..." Grunting The Hitcher huffed and sucked in his breath, hissing through gritted teeth to control his own ecstasy. Even he was trembling, just a little, as he pushed in and out of the contracting flesh. "Unghf, my oh my little l-lady..."

Vince still continued his position, wincing and tears again. His hands still were there, feeling the light impact of hip flesh against them. His back was aching a little but his insides even worse. Struggling on the edge of hold on, hurting and trying to adjust. Convulsing as it continued to squirm itself inside, screwing into him...

"Let go you f-fucking whore."

With the immediate growl of mercy Vince dropped his hands, flopping over face-first into the pillow with a cry. His hands felt relief and the position further submissive; face buried wet into the bedding, his heeled toes digging into the creaking mattress, slipping smooth as his thighs endured the constant smack and rubbing of flesh and red pants. Back bowed in Vince shut his eyes, and cried.

"AHA! Yes THATS the spot! Ohohohohohoh tarnations that's good...yesssssssss...fucking little whore...makin' Uncle proud..." 'Uncle' Hitcher hissed and lurched forward, hands grasping, yanking at the sweaty dress holding his prey. "You're takin' me todger quite fine, quite...fine..."

"Ooh..." Vince moaned, feeling its journey slip against his weakness. The floodgates of his mouth had opened, revealing the gratitude, the relief of pleasure. Vince had never, ever lasted this long; as he bent, suffocating in his own shaking breath he realized he had fallen into this mess under the vast, long pressure of the hour, more than an hour even. The foreplay of pain had extended him. The whip and humiliation broke his defenses, the pleasure started just earlier by Jimmie Piper's hands a slow, horrible poison. As soon as he even touched the bed, he was lost. The fear was one with desire. His body had been seduced. It was more than a repeat of last month's events, it was the continuation. The validation of Vince's horrible fantasies completely real.

"Little fuckwhore...ungh!" Snarling The Hitcher bent over, plowing into his submissive bitch. Whimpering and moaning Vince near-completely collapsed to lay, like a lump, on the bed, to let him ride him into either ecstasy or pain, whichever would happen.

_I deserve this. I deserve pain for what I want. _His forehead dug in as it creased with wincing eyes. The thrusts were swifter now that his muscles were more relaxed and pushed apart by the screwing cock. Each movement that went inside hit near or right against his prostrate sending him a sharp sensation of pleasure. It made him utter moans from deep in his throat.

"You like that huh? Don'tcha? Good, ya should, you like my big ol' eel right up inside ya..."

Biting his lip with a whimper Vince's back was hurting from the position. He brought out his arm and pushed up, resting now on his elbows trying to rise up some more to his former doggy-style position. "Y-yes..." He replied instinctively, though he rather did not want to imagine the meat between his thighs to be an actual eel...

Thick hands ran under the exposed belly and ribbons of his prey, rewarding as The Hitcher mused a query tone. "Is that so? Even aftah your deny'in in your little diary, hmmm _girl?"_

Vince twitched as the fingers brushed against his nipples and throat. As he suspected one hand curled around his windpipe, firm but not too hard. He couldn't gulp easily and he gasped instinctively, as if he wasn't gasping hard for air already. The grip yanked him up so now he was properly hands and knees. Vince felt hot rank breath he tasted so often against his sweaty face and neck. His master was right behind him, panting as heavily as he was, nearly choking him for a grip. The thrusts immediately got more intense with this.

"I...w-wel...welll...oollelell!" Vince nearly saw stars, bucking at The Hitcher's new position. Now he was being choked, the fingers pressing around muscle and windpipe as his moans turned into gags. His eyes watered from the choking. Heart hammering in the creeping fear of death and helplessness as he reached up to claw the fingers cutting off his air.

But something stayed his hand. Shaking, his hand slowly dropped as his upper body slumped, eyes shut, taking the physical abuse while his insides received intense pleasure.

"Tell me now, now that you have learned what you 'ave learned...that you're not gonna deny it anymore fer me." Enjoying what he was noticing he moved in freely, bent and relying more on Vince's single arm at the moment to support their un-Christian sexual position. He went into the rich black locks of Vince's hair, smelling what he imagined all the delicious ruined emotions in the lad's sweat and hair product. The bow tickled his forehead with its little lacy edges as he kissed the back of his head, sweetly...sweetly choking him.

Vince was gulping, hurking, horking. His arm was shaking so badly as he let it finally fall, limp as he let his eyes roll back, his mouth open and starting to drool as he moaned, sobbed a little.

"...I'm n-not going to deny it." He whispered, voice weary as his throat. His erection throbbed and dribbled, nearly itching as the thrusts rocked his skirts back and forth stimulating it. His limp hand came to life, reaching down to aid in his pleasure while it hung, burning.

"I see that. But fer that little willy thar...I think we'll deny that a little longer eh?" Smirking he slapped away Vince's hand. Inhaling sharply Vince immediately brought it back to the mattress. A palm sweat stain as he gripped it, bearing the weight of the rhythm driving into his body. But Vince still had a little spark, though it was a lie; it was part of his basic character in this helpless situation, not something driven by quirk.

"B-but...it..."

"It what, honeycake?" The master mocked.

"...b-burns..."

"You'll get relief soon lass. You just gotta..._oooh mammy! _Say the magic words."

The choke hold tilted Vince's head to the side. Now the breath was across his whole face. The choke lessened allowing Vince to become more aware, just enough. Opening his eyes wet from the lack of oxygen he looked out the corner of his make-up stained eye at the green lips eager to attack. The smack of flesh against flesh as The Hitcher purposefully gyrated about was pounding out Vince's sanity. The pleasure thrummed through him straight to his manhood as it ached and swelled. Vince was getting very tired of denial, of wanting to release but unable to.

"P-please..."

"Please what?"

"P-please Uncle Hitcher, r...r-relieve me. NnnnMMNN!"

It was the tiniest of voices. Barely there, leadened with pleasure. It ended with a girlish whine complimenting the raspy, almost falsetto sentence.

"Do you want to cum? Hmm?"

"Y-Yeah! AH!" The Hitcher murmured his previous words into Vince's neck, biting into the flesh with gnarly teeth. Chewing him like a slab of meat.

"I suppose you need me to fuck you so hard your teeth get a knockin'? Is that a good suggestion?" The words came quick, naughty in his ear. Sucking the earlobe like a caramel.

"Y-yes s-sir p-please sir just _do it._"

"You're whining. Like a donkey. A little jackass hee-hawing with dirty hooves and a dirty buck-toothed mouth." The abuse sallied forth from rough pond-scum lips, violating Vince's hearing. "You don't deserve to cum nicely tonight, not after the sins you've admitted..."

Vince's mind was completely lost now. It faded away for the next moments, the brain completely rattled by the pleasure of skin, flesh, and blood.

"B-but please I've been good!" Begging instinctively. His eyes shut as he rasped and craned his neck, letting the mouth suck on his tendons even more. Just so long as The Hitcher kept grunting and humping him vigorously, then Vince was feeling so so _good._

"Oh yes you have corncake..." A hand roamed down, grasping Vince with his own skirts. Whimpering Vince's jaw opened as he cried out, tensing at the sensation of cloth and satin wrapped around his own cock. Just as soon as he groped it was let go. "I'm fucking you hard and dirty, just like ya asked, little bitch."

Ending his sentence with a smack of Vince's bottom he let go of the throat. Released to breathe Vince rasped his exhale in a strangled cry. As soon as that happened he was pushed down, knocking the breath out of him as his knees gave out, and he lay flat and topped completely. Prone, arms out and legs spread The Hitcher straddled above the stocking thighs and began the home stretch.

"Ahhh THATS the stuff!" Throwing his head back The Hitcher yodeled with his ecstasy. He was throughly enjoying Vince's cries muffled, crushing him down like a slab of caught fish. It even wriggled, adjusting as Vince turned his head to cry and breathe, gripping the bed as he took it in deep and fast. The Hitcher was pile driving right into him at this angle, up and down in complete thrusts. But there would be more to it than that.

"Ungh! Unnng! Unnnh, hnn, HNNN..." so whined Vince, dribbling chin on the bedding as he lay like a rug. His legs kicked up or went down to dig back into the bed, adjusting for the little maneuvering he could while his whole body was being slammed. Slammed **real **good inside.

Relief nearly came; he bucked and bent in the pause as those hands grasped his dick, yanking it in its wonderfully abusive way.

"Come on girl, cry for me while you cum." Said he above him, matted hair tickling Vince's shoulder blades. "Cry for me how much of a whore you are fer Uncle."

Then it happened. His legs parted willingly, a slight twist of a smile on Vince's face as he shuddered a sweet moan. But the handjob wasn't continuing. His dick was yanked back, rock hard, trapped between his legs and the bedding. It was hurting a little, but even worse was The Hitcher's hand on him keeping him from fixing this new placement. Then the fucking REALLY began.

"AH! AH! AH! AH!" he cried, eyes shut as his face twisted in its sexual agony. It was stimulated, oh yes but the fear was immediate that the swelling need to cum would probably be in some sort of agony, pinched off as it was.

"Ya should be sayin' sumthin' more constructive." The Hitcher chastised him, gloating in Vince's screams and skittering. He smacked Vince's hand that snaked down trying to grasp himself. Vince continued to squirm like a squashed bug in its ridiculous pink attire.

"P-please...g-gunna c-cum but...!"

"Ya don't have to admit that you're turned on by me ol' trencher...but you should. Gibber about it sweetie."

"I'm...ah..."

"You want it or not?"

"Y-yes!"

Vince had lost it, temporarily. It was getting too much. He was just ready, throbbing painfully in a puddle of his own heat and sweat. His body was being helplessly pulverized by the thrusts. Couldn't move to get up, drained of blood. Just waiting for the right command, then he would feel right with obedience...

"Accept that you're a dirty whore who wants nothing more to be a disgusting, filthy woman of the streets..." Huffed The Hitcher running his fingers through Vince's sweaty scalp. "You're gonna write a new diary entry...with yer jizzum."

"O...oh...ohkay..."

"Tell me...you love it when I destroy you..."

Vince winced, tears in his eyes. He almost jerked and came, but he tried his hardest to not in that moment. All his desire played in his eyes as he was _touched _by _him..._

"I l-love it."

"You filthy little cunt..."

"Juh...j-just kiss me!"

It was then it was completely realized. The Hitcher snarled and satisfied that request tongue-first. Vince and him curved as Vince mewled desperately, relief ready to spill from him. Vince craned his body to take the kiss, returning it with hap-hazard vigor as was The Hitcher. They were lost panting, grunting as they fastly finished themselves off.

"C...c...come o-on...!" Vince cried, pulling away. Spit dribbled everywhere as The Hitcher's face faded with pleasure as well. Their blue eyes opened, staring at each other as they huffed.

"Alri-WOAH."

Vince came even before he finished his sentence. But it wasn't that simple, it was worse. More. Much more delicious. He came screaming, The Hitcher with him.

**"U-UNCLE!" **

Convulsing Vince yelped and whined high and loud, nearly barking as his bucks alleviated the position of his jerking organ. He splurted all over behind him as The Hitcher, dragged along with the wild convulsions of his pet, couldn't say anything more except flush and moan, sinking into a less-dominant state for the moments as they shook and rattled the bed.

"Y-yeah that's it ya bitch," he rasped out after another few seconds, "Callin' out fer ye Uncle Reggie..."

"R-Reggie...R-Reggie...nng...nrrghh...U-Uncle it h-hurts so good...g...guh...good...good God..."

Vince's smeared lips betrayed himself; he smiled with relief, shuddering with red knees creasing into the bed before collapsing. Panting heavily he soaked it in, the extreme pleasure that just fulfilled himself both mind and physical body. Regardless of his stupid, torn-up dress. His hem of his skirts wet with sperm, thighs caked with it once they fell, limp, in the splatter behind him. His hips still gyrated and thrusted at small random intervals. And even more, as his vibrato moans of satisfaction nearly turned into a sex-crazed giggle, was the filling of heat that completed him. Wet, sticky heat. That heat made a wet sick sound as The Hitcher slipped out and dismounted to collapse right next to him.

The man-witch was quick to recover. Smug with satisfaction he rose back up, wiping his dick clean with the wrinkled fabric of Vince's little gown. Vince still lay, making a humming sound as his lips jerked into little fits of smiling. His hand went back down at last able to touch himself, rubbing and fondling about his hips and dick, happily face-first on the bed.

_Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. _

Opening his mouth to speak he could not. The Hitcher was rather a bit pleased with how crazy and disturbed Vince was coming down from the high of submissive-sex. After all, he didn't finish saying 'alright you can cum now you fucking rabbit' but, as he sat up to turn off the little kerosene lamp at the bedside, he figured it would further solidify this new enslaved relationship. He rather, obviously, liked the lad.

_Yes..._Vince moaned in his head, turning to his side as he hugged himself, feeling itchy in his clothes now. Now that the blood wasn't pumping so hard in his ears he could hear the rustling of the fabric and feel the sensation of the fishnets as his legs rubbed together.

_"_Yes!" he giggled softly. A sigh of euphoria. Arms around him, dragging him close against another body. Turned over with his head on the pillow, eyes shut as he murmured and wriggled a little more from green fingers untying and ripping apart the front of his dress.

"Little tart can't sleep in her day-clothes can she now?" The Hitcher clicked his tongue as he undressed his lady. He pulled out the bow, tossing it aside and he yanked off the ruined pink dress...that is what was left of it.

_I have accepted it. This is happiness. My body is tingly. Oh yes oh...oh yes oh...H-Hitcher...I am...am..._

Slowly Vince thought of over the word 'woman' and the incredible disturbing sex he just had. It wouldn't kick in for a few minutes. For now he just lay and kicked off his heels with hurt feet applying 'this wonderful feeling through my body' with that of being 'a woman'. The wrong kind of woman. The Hitcher didn't care. He was having too much fun destroying the concept of equality and happiness for him, probably forever. To Vince this was a second night that stuck the concept of abusive sex to that of the station of feminine words, and with it feminine = abuse. An abuse he was liking for very wrong reasons.

More minutes passed. Vince was drowsy and still high enough to not feel much of the aches from the welts, the sting of his rectum or care about the splooge spluttered on the quilts he was laying under. Snuggling in weakly he couldn't tell if he was tired or not, but he was and very nearly unable to move. The Hitcher had grunted and tossed everything aside, completely naked now as he clambered his even more rickety bones into his bed, now with a bedwarmer named Pansykins. While he was incredibly strong and magical, even he was a bit tired and wanted to sleep with his defeated destroyed little 'niece'.

Vince clutched himself as he shook, freezing and still jittery. His eyes were shut as he was dragged under the covers and his face was being licked. Vince was so defenseless letting The Hitcher chuckle and laugh as he was treated like a lickable naughty little teddy-bear. Just...laying there, trembling as his breath was calming down from hitching in reflex. His mouth was snogged again and he had no volition to say no, lips automatically responding. Now he was warming up, shaking sighs as the numbness was slowly fading.

The first thing he noticed was that his skin was burning a little. It was no longer a complete, pleasant numb. A buzz racing through his flesh from his behind and thighs. Not too strong, but enough to notice as he squirmed round the offered green arm against the stimulating sheets. Next was the weird stretched feeling of where he was penetrated. How his insides felt...pulverized, and wet. 'Gooky' was the word that entered into his mind as he lay trying to breathe. Then he didn't hear his heart so loud, just breathing and the crackle of the dying fire. There was only a low, orange glow through the room. Now he saw the shapes of the furniture and assorted objects, the darkness and shadows around him, and the feel of The Hitcher's wet mouth molesting his in a musty-smelling bed. His legs moved around as another leg went in. It was damp and slimy with oil and...

"Ungh...!" Vince's eyes opened, staring at the now completely creepy, old, wrinkled, gnarly-nosed nutjob of a man tonguing him fiercely. If Vince's strength wasn't sapped, he would have yanked off the frightening hand from his cheek and pulled his mouth away, but it was incredibly distracting and felt so warm...right...and very complimentative to the deliciousness his body was feeling. What was disturbing Vince as he 'umphfed' and wriggled with growing shame was how The Hitcher himself was very much agreeing with the similar feelings of sexual fulfillment, what with his closed eyes and his own gravelly 'ummm' groans. His eyes fluttered open in a twisted alluring fashion, a break for the dark man out of his usual dominant evil, grinning satisfactorily at the prey now chewing his lips and rising in panic. "Don't think I'm gonna let you go girl. I take care of my little pets if they're good." The villain's eyes narrowed. "And yer gonna be good still, aren't you little whelp?" "I...y-y...yes sir..." Vince saw those wicked eyes glance behind him. Cautiously while The Hitcher shifted about into a comfortable position under the quilts Vince saw that he was referring to the tailed coat he usually wore, draped over the chair where logically a knife might be. The thought of 'knife' and 'threat' though wasn't clicking that well. Now he was freaked out even more that as The Hitcher touched and turned him around to his side that he did not shiver from his touch. It felt like...nothing was wrong with that. Nothing wrong with wrinkled long dirty fingers and a callused palm touching his skin and curves. Nothing that wrong about the feeling of weird comfort and submissive joy once Vince's body sunk easily into the position of being spooned, practically.

That was what was the most wrong. He didn't even feel like sobbing, or screaming, or struggling to escape from the arms of the violator. He rolled the word 'violator' over and over in his head trying to attach the correct meaning to it. But the word sounded numb. It didn't sound real to describe this. But it should, because Vince had a very good idea that what just happened was a very confusing rape.

_Oh God...Oh God...I actually...he..._

Vince's fingers covered his mouth, playing with his lips as he was held tighter. Filthy words had come from these lips. They tasted more like...bitterness now, not just from the lipstick. Rubbing his face his makeup smeared now his face felt dirty. His whole body felt dirty...deliciously so.

_Delicious? No. This is not...who I am, is it?_

He remembered his diary. He knew how he felt. He felt female. He felt like a _she. _But he just enjoyed...whatever happened...and he felt it was what it meant to be _she. _

_But I know it isn't. Yet I went along with it anyways. I let this monster have sex with me again. And he HIT me..._

"Stop yer whimperin' girl." Vince's sniffles were choked by the grip on his throat. Sucking in breath Vince realized that he had been making very soft but still audible noises of fright as his breathing was getting more erratic. His stomach was churning unfavorably as well and the grip on his throat and body kept him in a state of parlyzation. Now the tears were coming.

_I'm a slut. And it isn't a good thing. But it is...NO! NO! _

"Wh...what did you DO to me?"

"You did it yourself," The Hitcher lied.

_This is wrong and I know it. I must know this because...it feels like I should not. What I know is not..._

Vince settled a little down, not so rigid as before. The grip on him relaxed as he felt melted like hot lead. His mind was buzzing with confusion over whether or not what he liked was the truth, whether his dreams and concept of his own individuality were of this dark nature...that should be connected with enjoying completely what The Hitcher was giving to him.

Vince shivered, slowly turning his head around, looking at the man behind him. The Hitcher stared back looking completely smug and satisfied. But Vince couldn't look any longer than the second he saw him; he blushed and broke into tears, turning back and burying his wet eyes into the pillow. All the while his new owner laughed at him.

"I know you like it. You said so yerself." The hands patted and smoothed all over the shuddering back as Vince helplessly cried. His body curled into a fetal position as Vince's shattered form tried to regroup under the circumstances of control. Instead he was shattered in little pieces; his simpering position mimicking safety was only the bits of himself swept into a little pile to melt together as one again, slowly.

"I c-can't like it I can't...can't..."

"We'll talk more in da mornin'. Ol' Hitchah's gotta get some...ahh...shut-eye." Yawning he grunted and further tightened his dark embrace. Vince was rather inclined to agree with him considering his mentally and physically exhausted state.

_Maybe if I sleep, it'll go away. I won't...think about it anymore. Thinking about it is bad. Th..._

Steadily he fell asleep. The tears slowly, slowly fell down his cheeks while he sniffled in his own sexual filth.

_I'm a dirty girl. A dirty fucking whore. _

Over and over in his head. Over and over.

_I like this. I can't be ashamed...for what I like can I? _

He didn't know that he was probably wrong about what he liked.

Yet.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: In case you were wondering, I think its rather obvious I support women's rights, like normaly people should naturally do. What is reaaaaly going on is that Vince has always liked to apply himself to the female gender role of society; in the previous fanfic he was abused for 'looking like one' as part of the entire fic. It re-enforced the 'wrong' way of thinking about what a female gender is; some sex-slave creature. He had not enough time to realize the seperation and that is not inherently wrong if you look at it another way, but The Hitcher utilized this state of confusion and shame he felt to enhance a submissive sexist role unto his new little slave, 'Pansykins'. So no, I do not think women are meant to be weak filthy sex-minded creatures. I hope this clears things up if you readers as possibly offended. **

**Shoys  
><strong>


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